Way of the Hero
by brixen
Summary: This was just supposed to be a simple job. However, Sam can't imagine anything more difficult than the choice he finds himself facing. And it's certainly not made any easier by the fact that Dean's being used as leverage...
1. Chapter 1

**Summary:**This was just supposed to be a simple job. However, Sam can't imagine anything more difficult than the choice he finds himself facing. And it's certainly not made any easier by the fact that Dean's being used as leverage...

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Supernatural.

**A/N:** Hello, readers. Let me take a minute to make a few more disclaimers here before the story begins. I of course don't know where the writers are going with the show in terms of Sam's abilities and the introduction of Meg. This fic however, is going to be dealing with both those aspects of the show, so I'm sure this will veer off into AU once the episodes of the show start explaining everything. This will basically be my own take on what I think Meg wants with Sam, and what I think his abilities are about. Or what they _could_ be about, I should say. Anyways, I hope you'll enjoy it, and I hope you won't be too bothered by the fictitious freedom I'm going to be taking with this story. But, that's what fan fiction's about, right? Leave a review on your way out, please! Oh, and also, the site seems to be having a glitch with spacing lately, so sorry if there's a few words that might randomly end up crammed together. There's not much I can do about it. Anyways, on with chapter one.

**Way of the Hero**

**Chapter 1**

"Hello?"

"Ah, yes, I'm trying to get a hold of a 'Dean Winchester?'"

A slight hesitation, "Speaking."

"Mr. Winchester? Sorry to be calling out of the blue like this. My name's David Fielding. I'm a member of the local Law Enforcement in Elko, Nevada—"

Dean's mind was speedily trying to process what he was hearing. A cop? From Elk—where? What the hell was this about?

"—tried calling your father, but I only got a message—"

"Wait, what?" Dean asked, quickly switching the phone from his left ear to his right. "You know my dad?"

"Yeah, John? I knew him from several years ago. He, uh—he really helped me—well my family actually, with something...a few years back." Dean noticed the slight pause after the word 'something' and understood.

The man went on, "I really owe him big, so I feel kind of bad calling, but he told me to keep in touch if I noticed anything...you know—_weird_ happening again. And I only got his voice mail which said to contact you in case of an emergency, and well..."

"Yeah, I see," Dean replied. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

"Yeah...God, I'm sorry, I feel pretty stupid bothering you like this—"

"No, it's no problem," Dean cut in. "It's, uh, it's what I do," he tried to explain, not exactly sure how else to describe what he considered his job.

"It's just these inexplainable disappearances that have happened recently,"

"Disappearances?" Dean asked.

"Yeah, a couple of teenagers," the man explained. "Friends say they took a dare to spend the night in an old abandoned power plant in town, and no one's seen anything of them since...No bodies or anything—no trace at all."

Teenagers going into a haunted building only to never be seen again? Sounded a bit interesting. Rather cliché though too, really.

The man continued, "I know it's not much to go by, but really strange things have happened through the years concerning this old building, and these aren't the first people to go in and never come out. It's happened before, years ago, but everyone's turned a blind eye, refusing to believe that...maybe the cause might be something...you know, _paranormal._"

Dean signaled his understanding with a simple, "Mm hm."

"Anyways, if you and your brother think maybe you could—"

Dean's brow suddenly furrowed and a warning flag went up. He stiffened. "My brother?" he asked.

The man on the other end immediately hesitated.

"How do you know I have a brother?"

"Oh," the man said quickly, offering an uneasy laugh. "It sounded like you were going to tell me he passed away a while ago or something. I would have felt really bad for mentioning him. But he's okay, I take it?"

"Yeah..." Dean said slowly, not able to hide the fact that he thought this conversation had taken a really odd turn. They didn't even know this guy...

"Your dad told me about him, of course," the man quickly explained. "About both of you, in fact. Yeah, he talked about you two a lot. I could tell he sure loved his boys," he paused, then quickly caught himself, "still _does,_ I'm sure."

Yeah, Dean thought. Loves us so much in fact, that we haven't seen the damn man in over six months. "Yeah, he's a pretty cool guy," were the words that actually came out of his mouth.

"Anyways," the man said, trying to get the conversation back on track, "I'd be willing to pay you guys, of course. If you're interested. The incident actually happened several months ago. I was about to just let it go, but I've heard talk lately that kids are starting to get curious about the building again. You know how kids are these days, right? Put a 'Keep Out' sign on anything and suddenly it becomes the hottest hang out in town. Damn kids...I'm just worried it might happen again if something isn't done."

Dean nodded his understanding. "A haunted...power plant, you said?"

The man gave a slight snort, realizing how ridiculous anyone else would find this.

"Sounds right up our alley," Dean said, briefly flashing his signature cocky grin.

The man gave Dean his address, thanked him, and hung up.

Dean flipped his phone shut and pressed his fist against his mouth, thinking. That was random, was the first thought that came to mind. He and Sam had actually been trying to find a gig for the past few days—without luck. It was always a refreshing change of pace when a gig found them. This one didn't sound too bad, either. The details had been vague, but gigs that fell under the category of "haunted buildings" usually didn't cause too much grief to solve. Well, unless that building happened to contain a dead psycho psychiatrist that was still managing to screw with other people's heads, Dean thought, recalling that unpleasant visit to an asylum weeks earlier. God, he hated thinking about that night. Sam had actually...he pushed the thought from his head, not wanting to go over it again for the millionth time, when there was really no need. Sam had said he was sorry. More than a few times, actually. And Dean didn't hold any grudges. He didn't want Sam to carry any unnecessary guilt from that night. But still...those words that were said would take a long time to forget. No matter how much Dean wanted to forget them.

He glanced over at the sprawled figure on the opposite bed that just so happened to be his sleeping brother. As usual, some sort of reading material—be it a book, newspaper, or magazine—was draped across his chest, apparently boring enough to have put even Sam out. He almost considered waking him to tell him about their new buddy from Elko, Nevada, but he knew he'd regret it if he did. God knows it was a miracle anytime Sam managed a full night's sleep. Poor kid. He just couldn't seem to keep things from constantly running through that freak head of his. Sam just thought about everything too much. He over analyzed things. And he somehow managed to always find a way to blame himself for the most ridiculous things. It drove Dean crazy. He made sure however, not to let on too much of the fact that he actually was concerned for his brother's sleeping habits (or lack thereof). Sam would think he was getting soft or something.

Dean sighed and leaned back against his pillows. Time to go to sleep. He reached over and flipped off the bedside lamp. They had a long drive in the morning.

Dean was asleep in a matter of minutes. He slept soundly. Hardly moving. Hardly making a peep. He never heard the gasp across the room at 3:17 a.m. Nor did he notice the frantic figure at his bedside at 3:18, making sure he was safe and sound...which he was. For the mean time.

* * *

"So, you're sure about this job?" Sam asked, turning his head to glance at his brother in the opposite seat. 

"For the third time, Sam, yes," Dean said, keeping his eyes on the road. "What's there not to be sure about? Sounds easy. And dude, the guy's gonna pay us."

Sam turned his gaze back to the road. "Still..."

Dean could tell something was bugging him. "What?" he asked, wishing he would just spit it out and not make him go through the whole guessing game that was always so frequently a part of their conversations.

"Well," Sam said, "To be honest, Dean...it doesn't sound too urgent. The kids disappeared months ago and nothing's happened since, right? It'll probably just end up being a waste of time."

"So?" Dean replied. He could tell that wasn't the real reason Sam was hesitant about the job. He sighed. Here we go again with the whole guessing thing. "It's worth at least checking out. And it's not a waste of time if we're getting paid, is it?"

True, it wasn't. Sam let out an exasperated breath. "Dean, it's a power plant," he said, as if that explained everything. He turned to look at his brother once more.

...So? Dean looked over at his brother, a questioning look on his face. He didn't get it. Sam raised his eyebrows a touch. Dean looked back to the road, and something clicked in his mind. He looked back at Sam.

"Ohhh, I get it," he said and snorted. "You're afraid of having me around all those wires and high voltage crap, huh?" a crooked grin pulled at his mouth. "Well, don't worry, Sammy. I might be slow to learn lessons, but I think I've definitely learned mine when it comes to electricity," he joked.

"Don't joke about that," Sam said, pursing his lips and turning his gaze back to the road. The memory of that week from hell was still all too clear in his mind.

"Dude, lighten up," Dean said, his grin fading. "The building's been out of operation for years, anyway. There's nothing to worry about."

Sam just continued to stare straight ahead. Then why does this job feel so...not right?

"What is it?" Dean demanded. Sam started a bit. He hadn't noticed Dean had been watching him closely.

Sam released his breath. "Nothing," he said.

All right, that was just starting to piss him off now. "Sam," Dean said, trying his best to keep his patience in check. "Don't give me that crap, okay? I'm your brother. I can tell when something's bugging you. And I think I'd have a right to know what it is."

Sam sighed once more, giving in. "It's just..." he began, "more nightmares," he knew that sounded pretty pathetic. It's just that he couldn't shake these freaky dreams he'd been having lately. They weren't normal nightmares. He knew well enough by now to think they were.

"About what?" Dean asked, not really too surprised. Or worried, for that matter. A few nightmares never hurt anyone. Sure, sometimes they could be involved in weird coincidences (particularly in his freak little brother's case), but he was convinced they were nothing to get too worked up about.

"Look, I'd rather not talk about it," Sam said, and Dean knew he shouldn't press. They both turned their eyes to the road once more.

Dean couldn't help it, though. Sam's brooding silence drove him crazy sometimes. A moment later he glanced back to his brother. "Nightmares are normal, Sam," he offered.

"Are they, Dean?" Sam said, quickly turning to meet his brother's gaze, an edge to his voice. He gave his brother a hard stare before continuing. "Is it normal to dream about your girlfriend's death days before it happens?" he paused, still staring hard. Dean remained silent. "Is it normal to dream about a traumatized family going through the same shit ours went through in that house?" a shorter pause, "Is it _normal_ to dream about your brother—" he immediately caught himself.

Dean froze. What was that?

Sam quickly turned his gaze back out the windshield. "Never mind," he mumbled almost inaudibly. He had not meant for that to slip.

Dean continued to stare at his brother for a moment longer, lost for words. So, he was the latest subject of his brother's nightmares, huh? He hadn't been expecting that. He didn't want Sam to see he had been shaken a bit by this news, however, so, not knowing what else to do, he quickly fell back to his typical way of dealing with difficult situations.

"Well," Dean said, giving a short snort. "If your dreams fall under the same category as the majority of mine, then, no, I'd have to say it's definitely _not_ normal to be dreaming about your brother." he forced a grin. "In fact, that might even warrant psychological help, Sammy," he said, pausing to see if his brother had smiled yet.

Sam remained stony-faced, staring ahead.

"Though," Dean said, trying once more, "I can't really blame you. I mean, I am—"

"Dean," Sam said, cutting him off. He didn't look at him, just gave a slight shake of his head. He wasn't in the mood to joke about this.

Dean got the hint and turned his attention back to the road. "Tough crowd today. Man..."

A thick silence crystallized around them, forming a glass barrier that could so easily be shattered if only one of them was willing. Shattering an awkward silence like that took guts though, which neither one of them had at the moment. So the silence continued to blanket them, depressing their moods and darkening their thoughts.

Finally, minutes later, Dean plucked up the courage to switch on the music. Sam had never been more relieved to hear Led Zeppelin come blaring out of the speakers. He knew he and Dean would have to talk about this eventually, but he couldn't bring himself to spill it all right now. He didn't even know what the hell was going on with him lately, so how could he expect Dean to understand? Plus, he didn't want to deal with Dean making light humor of it. He just wasn't in the mood. He knew that was Dean's way of trying to make him feel better, but it didn't always work. He also knew Dean used it as a defense mechanism, trying to hide how he really felt about serious issues. And Sam wasn't sure if that was always the healthiest way to deal with things. He knew Dean felt things a lot deeper than he let on.

Sighing, Sam laid his head back against the seat. Did he dare risk taking a nap? He was more concerned about Dean witnessing one of his nightmares than he was about actually having one. He decided against it and resorted to staring out the passenger window at the boring countryside passing by. He sighed again. This was going to be a long drive. And the destination didn't feel too promising.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dislcaimer:** I do not own Supernatural...

**A/N:**Sorry it took over a week to update. I promised myself I wouldn't be a lazy writer when it came to Supernatural fics, and I'm going to try and stay true to that. Just a reminder--review button's on the bottom left of the screen! And thanks so much to all those nice reviews for chapter 1!

**Chapter 2**

"Well, this must be it," Dean said, bringing the Impala to a stop. "Corner of third and Elm Street." He put the car in park and shut the engine off. He turned to look at his brother who was currently taking in their surroundings. The neighborhood was very middle class. Nothing too fancy. Nothing too shabby. Very _normal_ looking neighborhood. However, both brothers had known since childhood just how deceiving "normal" could be.

"Well?" Dean asked, catching Sam's attention.

"Well, what?"

"You okay with this?"

Sam snorted. "A little late to be asking that when we're practically standing outside the guy's door."

"Seriously, Sam," Dean went on, "If you're not feeling up to this..."

Sam knew what he really meant was _If you've had any of those freak premonitions and think there's some reason we shouldn't be here..._

"No, it's all right," Sam replied. "We're already here."

Dean hesitated, studying his brother's face. He decided to quit beating around the bush and get to what was really bothering him. "Will you tell me about that dream you mentioned earlier?"

Sam's gaze snapped to meet his brother's. They had just sat through six hours of not talking. And Dean was bringing this up now?

"You know, the one you mentioned featuring me?"

Sam looked down.

Seeing his brother's hesitation, Dean went on. "Does it have anything to do with this place, Sam?"

Sam gave a short, humorless laugh. "I'm not a fortune-teller, Dean."

Dean let out an exasperated sigh and rolled his eyes. "Just tell me about the dream, will you? I hate it when you keep shit like this from me."

Sam looked away and nodded. It was true. Dean couldn't stand not being let in on things. Sam couldn't help but be a little amused by Dean's begging, though. He very rarely resorted to that. He usually went with the fine-if-you're-not-going-to-tell-me-that's-your-loss attitude. Compromising a bit of his pride however, told Sam that Dean really was concerned about the issue at hand. And wanting to appease his brother, Sam took a breath and tried to explain.

"It started just a few days ago," he began. "I've only had the dream a few times—three or four, maybe. And the weird thing is," he said, pausing for a brief moment, "I can't remember a single detail about it..." he chewed on the inside of his lip for a second. This wasn't the easiest thing to say. "All I know is that it's about you. I wake up, not remembering anything I was dreaming about, but...I just have this awful feeling...like I'm positive something's happened to you...I dunno, I can't explain it...But honestly, it scares the hell out of me. I actually have to get up in the middle of the night and make sure you're asleep in the other bed just to convince myself I actually was dreaming." Sam quickly released his breath, and turned to look once again at his brother, hoping his thoughts would be easy to read by his expression.

Dean's face was passive, however, not offering Sam much insight into what he was thinking. He nodded slowly a couple times. "So..." he said, trying to sound casual, "No visions of me getting fried in a haunted power plant?" he forced a grin. "I'd say we're good to go then."

Sam gave him a slightly incredulous look. "That's it?" he asked. "This doesn't bother you as much as it does me?"

"Sounds like a normal dream to me, Sammy," Dean said, though he didn't quite sound completely convinced of that himself. "A little on the morbid side maybe, but you can't pick and choose all your dreams, can you?" the slight grin he'd been wearing faded. "Plus, there were visions that accompanied those last nightmares, weren't there? You know, the freak coincidence ones?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Well, this one sounds different. If there wasn't a vision to go with it, there can't be a future event linked to it," he reasoned. Sounded like bullshit though, even to him.

Sam sighed. So like Dean. Always jumping to the first reassuring conclusion, despite how far from the truth it might be. "So, randomly waking up in the middle of the night dead-sure your brother has died or something is a completely normal thing to have happen on occasion, huh?" Sam said, nodding sarcastically.

"Well...it may be normal considering that recently almost happened," Dean said, putting an emphasis on the last words. That was it! Sam was just having flashbacks about the whole faith-healing incident. Dean instantly felt loads better.

"Look, Sammy, I just had my stroke with death and I won't be due for another one for quite some time." he grinned and started to turn towards the door, about to open it. He turned back towards his brother, cocky grin still in place. "It's nice to know I've got my own personal watch dog lookin' out for me at night, though," he said and reached over to give his brother a couple of playful pats on the cheek. "Thanks, Sammy."

Sam dodged his brother's hand, a small half-annoyed, half-amused grin on his face. This happened to be one of those times that Dean's humor actually did make him feel a bit better. And it was nice having things out in the open. Maybe Dean was right. Maybe these recent dreams were just some form of repressed stress from that "week from hell," as he would always so fondly remember it as. It would make sense. He _had_ been repressing his emotions from that week like he'd never repressed anything before. God...he wondered if he'd ever be able to face the memories of that week without actually feeling physically sick...That helpless feeling of having no hope...Knowing that Dean was going to die no matter what...Man, how had they managed to pull through that?

Dean's door slammed shut and instantly snapped Sam's attention back to the present. Dean was already making his way up the sidewalk towards the house. Sam hastily undid his seatbelt and followed suit.

Dean reached the door first and rang the bell. He heard footsteps approach and a moment later the door swung open to reveal a middle aged man, tall and solid, with pepper-flecked hair. He offered a friendly smile upon seeing them.

"Dean Winchester," the man said, holding his hand out. Dean took it and was met with a firm grip.

"Officer Fielding," Dean said, nodding to him and releasing his hand. "This is my brother Sam," he said, gesturing. The two grasped hands in greeting.

"Call me David," the man said, and stepped to the side, gesturing for the boys to enter. "Please, come in."

The boys followed him in and were met with a very homey living room. It had a cheerful feel to it—like this was a place children had happily grown up in. Sam noticed David had to be married. The decorating was definitely that of a woman. He scanned the room; first the mantle, then the coffee table, then the bookshelves on the wall, expecting to find at least dozen framed photos of random happy family moments frozen forever in time—A little boy's first fish caught. A little girl's first day of school. Didn't normal families love to display stuff like that all over their houses? Funny...this house didn't have any.

"I really appreciate you boys coming all the way out here," David began, closing the door behind them. "Is there anything I can get you guys? Water? A beer?"

"No, we're okay," Dean said, wanting to skip the usual friendly talk.

"Well," David said, slapping his thighs, "Should we get right down to business then?" He made his way to the coffee table and picked up the manila folder he had set there earlier. He handed it to Dean. "Here's some information I gathered for you about the power plant. There's also some profiles of the missing kids I printed off in there."

"Obituaries?" Sam asked.

"No, actually, there was never enough evidence found for them to be declared dead. The families never held any type of funeral services that I'm aware of. I think they still had hope the kids were alive somewhere. Maybe as runaways or something. I don't know. Both families have since moved away..."

Sam instantly felt for the families of the missing teenagers. There was nothing worse than lack of closure.

"Whoa, what's this?" Dean asked, opening the folder. Seven crisp one-hundred dollar bills lay neatly on top a stack of papers.

"Oh, just recompense for you guys taking the trouble to come out here. I wasn't sure what your going-rate was. I hope that'll be enough."

"Well, I don't know about you, Sammy," Dean said, glancing at his brother, "but last time I checked gas prices weren't _that_ high."

"Oh, It's not just to cover the gas," David explained, though he knew Dean was joking. "I just feel I owe it to you guys."

Sam's brow furrowed ever so slightly. Wasn't this guy a cop? Where'd he come up with an extra seven hundred dollars to throw around? And they hadn't even done anything yet...

"You're paying us in advance?" Sam asked, barely managing to keep the slight suspicion he was feeling out of his voice.

"Yeah," David replied. He quickly went on, "Actually, I have a flight to catch this afternoon," Sam raised his eyebrows. David continued, "Yeah, my oldest son's wife went into labor three weeks early yesterday. My wife caught the first flight she could last night, and I promised I'd follow as soon as possible. I'm really sorry about this. Perfect timing for a family emergency, huh?"

Sam nodded slowly, not really sure what to make of all this.

"Oh...well, I hope everything turns out okay," Dean said, adding a concerned tone to his voice.

"Yeah, me too," David said, sighing. "Anyways," he went on, "if you guys could just check out that building, and, you know, do whatever necessary...," he sought for the word, "_exorcisms_ might need to be done, I would just really appreciate it. It could just make the difference in saving a few lives down the road."

Dean nodded his understanding. "Shouldn't be a problem. We'll be sure to get back to you on how it goes," he assured.

"I'd appreciate it," David replied. "Oh, and I printed directions off Mapquest. The plant's at the base of Anglo-gold Jerritt Canyon. Shouldn't be too hard to find."

"Great," Dean said. "Thanks. Well," he said, looking to his brother, "We'll go check it out then." He turned towards the door.

Sam cleared his throat, not ready to leave just yet. "If you don't mind me asking," he said, directing his question at David, "What exactly was it our dad helped you out with a few years back?"

"Poltergeist," David replied without hesitation. "Four years ago." He paused, reflecting. "Yeah...pretty nasty things, those are."

"And, how exactly did you two meet?"

"Sam," Dean cut in, his voice a little reprimanding. Sam was never impolite like that to strangers. Here they had finally met a nice cop (who had just payed them seven hundred dollars!) and Sam was grilling the man like he was some sort of crime suspect or something.

Sam met his brother's gaze. "Just wondering," he said innocently.

"Oh, it's no problem," David replied. He wasn't put off by Sam's questions. "Your father found me, actually. I posted on a few internet forums about the unexplainable occurrences that happened in my home. Your dad happened to reply saying he was willing to help." He paused. "He's a great guy." He paused again. "What's he up to these days?"

"Oh," Dean said, quickly sorting through the usual excuses he was so quick at pulling out of his ass. But then he remembered this man already knew about his father's antics and decided to go with, "Same old," It was honest for the most part. However, Dean didn't exactly know just what his old man was up to. He hadn't exactly been calling each night to check in.

"Still looking for that thing that killed your mom, huh?"

Sam's gaze immediately snapped up. "He told you?" he asked, hardly believing it.

"Well...yeah," David replied, slightly confused. He looked quickly from one brother to the next, trying to read on their faces why they found that so shocking. "Was he not supposed to?"

Dean and Sam stole a glance at each other, reassuring one another that they were indeed thinking the same thing. Their father very rarely confided their mother's death to other people, let alone a stranger he had met over the internet.

"Hey," David said, bringing their attention back to him. "I'm really sorry about what happened to her. Tell your father I wish him the best of luck in his search, okay?"

The brothers nodded in unison, still deep in their own thoughts. Brief goodbyes were spoken, hands were once again shaken, and the brothers soon found themselves once again seated in the interior of the Impala.

"Well," Sam said after a moment, speaking both of their thoughts. "That was weird," he paused, "to say the least."

Dean didn't say anything, he just reached forward and fired up the engine.

Sam took it as a signal to keep talking. "I mean, we've never even heard of this guy, and yet he talks to us like he's some long, lost uncle or something. If he was supposedly good enough friends with Dad that Dad even told him about mom, why didn't Dad ever mention him to us?" He paused and looked over at his brother. "Did Dad ever tell _you_ about some poltergeist gig in...Elko, Nevada?"

Dean pursed his lips. "Dad's worked a ton of solo gigs, Sam. I doubt we've heard the half of them."

Sam released his breath in exasperation. Typical Dean again. Always rationalizing the situation. "So," he said, "Nothing about this seems weird to you?"

"No more weird than any of our other jobs," Dean argued.

"Not the job, Dean," Sam countered, "That guy." He stared at his older brother, trying to catch a glimpse of a facial expression that would show him Dean wasn't as sure about this as he was letting on.

Dean just continued to stare straight ahead, trying hard not to get annoyed by his little brother's paranoia.

Sam went on. "He paid us seven hundred dollars, Dean. In advance," he continued to stare at Dean, seeing if any of this was registering. "That man's a cop, Dean."

"So?" Dean asked, losing his patience. "What the hell are you getting at, Sam?" He finally turned and met his brother's gaze. He continued, "So, he was generous enough to pay us some good money. So, he knows a little about us. Why is that so unnerving? He seems like a good guy. A good guy that Dad trusted enough to tell about mom. He just wants us to work a simple job for him—help the people in his town." he paused. "Now tell me which part of that has got your panties in such a goddamn twisted knot?"

Sam sighed. He knew Dean was having the exact same reservations about this as he was. He just wasn't letting on about them. Because letting on about things you're not sure of makes you vulnerable. And if there was one thing Dean never was, it was vulnerable. Sam just shook his head and turned to stare out the windshield. "Well," he said after a moment, "maybe it wouldn't hurt to at least try calling Dad and asking him about all this."

Dean's jaw tightened. "He won't answer."

And Sam knew it was true. He wouldn't pick up when his own damn son was dying, he wouldn't pick up for this. He felt his teeth clench.

"Look, Sammy," Dean said, a reasoning tone to his voice. "We'll just get this over with and then get the hell out of here, okay?" he stole a glance at his kid brother. "You've just got to relax, man."

Sam reached up and rubbed his eyes, willing some of the frustration he was feeling to vent. Dean was right. This was a simple job. He was grasping at straws that weren't there, and as a result, he was getting worked up for no reason. Right? Or was he just desperately trying to convince himself that this whole situation wasn't shady when he was absolutely certain that it was? Oh, God...Sam thought, rubbing his brow. Why am I so damn confused?

At least he had Dean. Steadfast, straightforward, cocksure Dean.

And suddenly, Sam wasn't worried anymore. He would always have Dean. And together, they could get through any damn gig that was thrown at them. He didn't give a damn about his nightmares anymore. He would always have his older brother, and there wasn't a damn thing in this world that he would ever let change that fact.

He leaned his head back and closed his eyes and before he knew it, he felt the Impala slowing to a stop. There it was, looming at him through the passenger window. The old power plant.

**Chapter 3 coming soon...**

* * *

**Reviewer Responses!** _It's only fair, right?_

Thanks so much for the reviews, guys! It gets annoying how much writers stress the importance of reviews, but yeah, they are great. Keep 'em up!

**Rowenna Luna:** First reviewers are so special. That means you, Rowenna, are special. :)

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**Gator-Girl:** Hey, thanks so much, Gator-girl. And thanks for adding it to your community.

**darlindarlin:** Thanks, darlindarlin. I'm so glad you found the conversations believable. The interaction between the boys is definitely the funnest part of a fic to write.

**Ghostwriter:** Hey, now, what story would be complete without a review from Ghostwriter? If only we were all like you...

**Alyssa43:** Thanks, Alyssa! Hope you still like it.

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**Falling Sun:** Haha, I'm guilty of that too, Falling Sun. It's shameful, I know. Thanks for giving it a chance though. I need to start working on breaking that habit as well.

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**Eternal Dragon101:** Thanks for the feedback! You're another good reviewer I see around a lot, like Ghostwriter. I need to come up with a catchy "peace out phrase" like you guys have. They're great.

**Master Li:** Thank you, Master!

**Nate and Jake:** Thanks for the review! And are you crazy? Of course there will be plenty more guilt in store for Sam! No one does angst like Sammy, don't you think?

**Anamalia-fear:** I like your taste in books! And actors. Except I'm not too sure about Tom Cruise anymore...

**ChaiGrl:** Hope you're still with me, Chaigrl! Thanks for that nice review. :)

**Violet Eternity:** You don't trust David? He's a nice guy! Hehe, thanks for the review, Violet.

**tvfanatic217:** Lol, the "wonk wonk" really cracked me up for some reason! Again with the clever "peace out phrases!" I think everyone should have one.

**rockstarhobbit:** Very cool pen name, rockstarhobbit. I immediately thought of Charlie from Lost. Which, I'm pretty sure is what you were getting at right? I'm a little slow. But, I love Lost. That last Charlie-centered episode definitely wasn't one of their best though. And geez, what was up with Locke? He was so dang rude to Charlie. Some episodes I actually like Locke and think he's a good guy. But others just lead me to the conclusion that that man's absolutely crazy! Anyways, thanks for the review!

**geminigrl11:** Oh, thanks so much geminigrl! You're such a sweetheart. :)

**Becka73:** Thanks, Becka! I'm still debating with myself how AU I want to go with this fic. But I have some interesting theories and they just might drive me crazy if I don't put them in this fic.

**teal-lover:** Haha, yeah, what kind of story would this be if our boys didn't end up in trouble? Thanks for reviewing!

**brigurl:** Thanks for the review, brigurl. Oh, I hate quickedit, too! It screws up the spacing!

**pmsdevil01:** Hey, thanks. Ha, I like your pen name. We all have our pms-y days. And we all suck at summaries too, so no worries. :)

**mimifoxlove:** Thanks, mimi! Let's hope it has a promising middle and ending too, right? Thanks for the review.


	3. Chapter 3

**Way of the Hero**

**Chapter 3**

The building was indeed old. Perhaps built in the early '40's, Sam observed. Although the style of the building looked like it was taken from a much earlier time period. Standing two stories tall, it was constructed of neutral-colored bricks that had long since become chipped and faded over the years. The windows were tall, paned, and came to points at their tops. It looked like it would have been a lovely building in its day, but as Sam stared at it now all he saw was an eerie, empty, spectral sight. A river flowed down the mouth of the canyon, passing the building closely on it's north side. Sam suspected the river must have been the reason the building was constructed so near the canyons in the first place. It must have been used to generate hydroelectric power.

"Well," Dean said, shutting the engine off. "Excited to see what's inside?"

"You bet," Sam muttered, still peering out the window.

Getting in the building proved to be a simpler task than either brother expected. The door was chained shut, but neither of them saw the point of that seeing as how most of the windows were missing glass. Dean climbed in first, followed closely by his brother.

It was musty inside. Dust covered the floor, the walls, and everything else in there for that matter. Cobwebs were visible everywhere, filling up every nook and cranny in sight. There were rows and rows of once power-generating contraptions lining the room. Shafts of dusty sunlight were clearly visible as they streamed through the windows and spilled onto the floor. Sam couldn't help thinking the place didn't actually look as creepy on the inside as it did from the outside. At least not in the day light. Aside from the dirt and spiders, Sam imagined he and Dean would have found this place a pretty cool hangout had they been about twelve.

"Doesn't exactly scream 'haunted,' does it?" Dean asked after noting observations similar to his brother's.

"No, not really," Sam agreed, scanning the room once more.

"Well," Dean said, making his way down the length of the room. "Let's see if we pick up on anything," He pulled out his EMF meter.

Sam kept pace with his brother as they circled the large room, Dean turning this way and that at regular intervals to allow the EMF meter to get a thorough scan. It remained silent, however, even when they completed their circle.

"Nothing," Sam said once they reached their starting point. He couldn't help letting a little relief slip into his voice. Maybe there was nothing wrong with the building at all. Maybe they could just finish this pointless little investigation, call it good, and leave town before nightfall.

"On this floor, anyways," Dean replied, "We still have to check upstairs."

Oh, yeah. Dang.

They headed for the stairs at the northeast corner of the room and were about to go up when they noticed a heavy looking door to the side with the letters 'BOILER ROOM' printed across the front in red. Dean glanced once at Sam before easing the door open and taking a look inside.

The room wasn't large. Metal furnaces lined the wall, underneath thin slots for windows which didn't allow in much light. It was dim and eerie, and Sam couldn't help but get an uneasy feeling when he stepped into the room, though he couldn't explain why—the EMF meter still wasn't registering anything.

Dean pursed his lips after giving the room a quick scan. "Again, nothing. This place seems pretty clean."

A quick tour of the smaller second floor only delivered similar results. The EMF meter continued to give a reading of nothing supernatural at all being in the vicinity.

"Well," Sam said, making his way back down the stairs, followed closely by his brother. "The place checks out okay. I don't know what else to tell ya. I think we can rule this case closed."

"Case closed?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows. "I think we can hardly call a clean EMF scan in the middle of the day a good enough ruling to close the case on."

"That piece-of-crap scanner of yours is actually pretty accurate, Dean." Sam argued. "If it didn't pick up on anything, I think it's safe to say there's nothing here."

"Yeah, during the _day_," Dean repeated. "We'll have to come back and check it out tonight. You know as well as I that the majority of spirits only haunt during the night hours."

Sam sighed. He really wasn't keen on the idea of coming back here at night. "You sure about this, Dean?"

Dean could tell how anxious his younger brother was to wrap this job up and leave town. But Sam's concerns weren't enough to make him commit to doing a half-assed job on their investigation.

"Sam, the guy paid us seven-hundred dollars," he reminded him. "The least we can do is conduct a thorough investigation for him, don't you think? I don't see why you're getting all worked up over this job anyway. This is the easiest one we've had for a while."

"I'm not getting worked up," Sam denied, annoyed.

"Ah, no, of course you're not," Dean replied, intentionally provoking him. "Since that would be such an out-of-character thing for you to do."

Sam gave him a look. "You think I get worked up easily?" he challenged.

"No, no," Dean said, letting the sarcasm slide through his voice. "Not at all, Sammy."

"Well, I don't," Sam insisted, a touch of anger in his voice.

Dean couldn't help laughing to himself. It was always so easy to get his younger brother to take the bait, and thus prove his own point.

"Yeah, whatever, kid," he said, making a move to tousle his hair. Sam blocked his arm in annoyance. "Let's go get some food, huh? I'm starving."

Sam followed his brother back out the window and threw one glance over his shoulder before joining Dean in the Impala. Damn, he didn't feel like coming back here tonight. Something about this gig just had "wrong" written all over it. Why wasn't Dean picking up on that vibe? Or maybe he was and was just playing it down as nothing. Like he played everything down. Damn you and your recklessness, Dean, he thought, looking over at his brother. And Damn me for admiring you so much for it.

* * *

"You finished already?" Dean asked, surveying his brother's plate and lack of attention to it. 

"Yeah, I wasn't that hungry."

"Slide it over," Dean said, gesturing.

Sam complied. He hadn't been very impressed with this small diner's food. Too greasy. And while he was far from being health-conscious, the grease just didn't appeal to him today. Maybe it was because his stomach was already a little queasy as it was. So, he resorted to watching his brother continue scarfing. He swore that guy could give a garbage disposal a run for its money when it came to food consumption. And well, truth be told, he could too, actually. When his appetite was intact.

"You feeling okay?" Dean asked between bites.

"Yeah," Sam answered automatically, hardly considering the question. That was always the automatic answer to the "are you okay" question the brothers relayed to one another at least a few times a week. Always would be, too.

"Well," Dean went on, "You don't really look it,"

Sam gave a short sigh. His eyes traveled out the window. "It's just that I—" he suddenly stopped short, something catching his gaze outside. He leaned in, squinting to get a better look.

There she was. Standing across the street. Thin figure casually posed, close-cropped hair fluttering ever so slightly in a breeze. He was sure it was her. And she was staring right back at him. He was sure she could see him. Their eyes were locked. But she made no acknowledgment that she recognized him. No smile. No nod. She just continued to stare for the remaining fraction of a second their gazes were held fast. And then a bus passed, blocking Sam's view... And she was gone. Sam quickly scanned the sidewalk, but there was no sign of her. What the...? A look of complete confusion settled over his face.

"Sam!"

Sam's attention snapped back to his brother, who was waving a hand in his face. He must have been trying to get his attention for a while.

"You going deaf or something? What the hell were you looking at?" Dean said, glancing out the window once more and again seeing nothing particularly interesting.

Sam's brow furrowed. That was weird. Really weird. What would that girl be doing here? What was her name again? Megan? Or no, just Meg, he remembered. He recalled their strange meeting hitchhiking on the road a few weeks back. And then their second coincidental run-in at a bus stop. He remembered being impressed with her. So much so in fact, that he was this close to going to California with her. And while Elko, Nevada, could be considered "on the way" to California, Sam couldn't help but think a third coincidental run-in with the girl would be anything but coincidence... It _was_ really her he'd seen, wasn't it?

"Sam!" his brother said, more insistent this time, obviously sick of being ignored. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Sam looked to him, eyebrows raised. "Nothing," he said quickly. "I just...I thought I recognized someone out on the street."

Dean raised his own eyebrows at that. "Oh, yeah? You got a few buddies here in old Elko?" he asked sarcastically.

Sam shook his head, wanting to drop the subject. Maybe he had only imagined it.

"Who did you see?" Dean pressed, obviously not willing to let it drop.

"Just a girl I met a while back," Sam replied.

Dean nodded slowly. "A living girl?" he asked tentatively.

Sam looked up at him. "Yes, a _living_ girl." Dean really did think he was a freak, didn't he?

"Oh, phew," Dean said, and seemed to relax a bit. "I thought for a minute the whole 'sixth sense' thing might be kicking in again."

Sam gave his brother an exasperated look.

"Who is she?" Dean went on, still curious.

"I told you, just some girl I met," Sam said impatiently. He knew Dean wouldn't give up without at least a few details however, so he humored him. "It was a few weeks back. During that whole scarecrow stint in Indiana." he deliberately left out mention of their brief split.

Dean nodded and Sam knew exactly what was coming next. "Is she hot?" Sam couldn't help the grin that split his face. Yep, he had his brother pegged, all right. He gave a short laugh.

"Well...is she?"

"Dude," Sam said, with a shake of his head as he slid out of the booth. He pulled out his wallet and fished out a tip.

"_Is_ she?" Dean asked, once again put-off by being ignored.

"Don't worry about it!" Sam said with a laugh, giving his brother a slightly incredulous look.

"Okay, so she's hot," Dean said, following suit by sliding out of the booth. "Now let's go back to the whole 'met' part. By saying you 'met' her, do you mean—"

Sam rolled his eyes, trying and failing to keep from smiling at his brother's antics. "You're such a retard."

Dean snorted. "Retard? Are we twelve?"

Sam laughed. "You're sure acting like it," he retorted, turning towards the door.

Dean shook his head grinning, and followed his brother outside.

"Sun sets around six," Dean said, pulling the driver's side door shut behind him. "Let's book a room and then head on back to the plant, should we?"

"We're spending the night here?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, why wouldn't we? What, do you have some pressing appointment you have to make elsewhere tomorrow?"

"No," Sam replied, ignoring the usual sarcasm. He just wanted to get the hell out of this town. He couldn't explain it.

Dean was watching his brother closely. "You're being weird today," he announced, voicing his observations. "Well," he added, "weirder than usual, that is."

Sam gave a short, unamused laugh. "Thanks."

"Look, would you rather wait at the motel while I go check out the building?" It was a sincere offer. Dean wasn't trying to make him feel like an idiot.

Sam looked at him as if that was the stupidest question he'd heard in a while. "No," he said, surprised Dean would even suggest it.

"Then will you knock off the whole pouting routine?"

Sam made a face at that. "Pouting?" he asked, offended. "Will you knock off the whole treat-Sam-like-he's-four routine?" he shot back. "It's getting on my nerves."

Dean gave a crooked grin, turning his gaze to the road. "Ooh, Sammy wants to be treated like an adult now, huh?"

Sam shook his head in annoyance. "Shut up..."

Dean flashed an amused grin, keeping his eyes on the road. A moment passed, his grin faded, and he asked, "Really, Sam, are you up for for this?"

"Yes," Sam replied shortly.

Dean gave a slight shrug, catching the hint that the discussion was closed.

* * *

After checking into a cheap motel and killing some time alternating between staring at the ceiling and staring at the t.v., Dean announced it was time to go. 

Sam looked up from the material he was reading—the information Fielding had provided for them.

"You know, Dean, there's not much to go by with this information Fielding gave us," he said, indicating the folder.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, he provided facts about the building itself—when it was built, how long it's been out of operation. But, there's hardly anything in here indicating the building's haunted. A few internet blogs posted by teenagers, but they don't exactly provide valid stories to back up their claims."

"Well, what about the reports of the two missing teens?"

Sam shifted through the papers. "Yeah, well, even those stories seem pretty weak. Says here Lucille Erickson was last seen with Paul Neerings, the other missing kid," he scanned the article once again. "And all it says is friends claim they last saw them when they accepted a dare to go spend the night in a local abandoned power plant." He paused, looking up. "There aren't any actual eye-witness accounts of anything supernatural happening in that building," he concluded.

"So..." Dean said, trying to piece together what his brother was getting at.

"So," Sam cut in, "Maybe we should research this a bit more?"

"Uhh...I thought that's just what we were about to go and do."

"I mean at the library." Sam said impatiently. "See if there's any more information about the building we could find online. I mean, we don't even know what we're supposed to be looking for in there. An evil spirit? A poltergeist? Something completely different?"

Dean obviously didn't find the idea of sitting in a library for the next couple of hours very appealing. "Look, why don't we just go scan the building once more, see if we find anything, and if we don't, we'll call it a done deal?"

"But if something _is_ in there, shouldn't we at least be prepared?"

Dean flashed his cocky grin. "Sam. Have we ever not been prepared?"

Sam rolled his eyes, wondering if he even wanted to contemplate that question.

* * *

Just as Sam had expected, the old power plant looked about ten times creepier at night. The windows were gaping and hollow, and distorted shadows, cast by a newly-risen moon, dappled the bricks and walkway leading up to the building. 

Getting in was just as easy as it had been earlier, and before he knew it, Sam found himself once again standing in the vast interior of the main room of the power plant. Rock salt-loaded shotgun in one hand, flashlight in the other, Sam took a look around, as his older brother climbed through the window behind him.

Dean stepped up beside him, reaching into his jacket to retrieve his prized electromagnetic frequency meter. Flipping it on, he ran the beam of his flashlight across the room. Everything looked the same as earlier, only lacking much more in the light department.

"Well," Dean said, glancing down at the device in his hands. "Let's make the rounds, should we?"

Sam gave a slight nod, signaling his brother to lead the way.

They circled the main room, their flashlights constantly shifting to and fro, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing caught their eyes, however, and similarly, nothing registered on the EMF meter.

"We should have brought the camcord," Sam suggested when they reached the stairs.

"Yeah, maybe so," Dean agreed. "Still, whatever the camcorder would have picked up on, the meter should be picking up on, too." He followed Sam up the steps. "What about you?" he asked a moment later.

Sam didn't follow.

"Are you picking up on any of your, uh...strange _vibes_, or whatever you call 'em?"

Sam threw him a glance over his shoulder. "Yeah, I am picking up on one actually. I'm sensing a douchebag in close proximity to me."

Dean snorted. "That's harsh, Sammy."

Sam ignored him and stepped off the last step onto the second floor of the building. Again, nothing peculiar awaited them, and they weren't very surprised.

Pale moonlight flooded through the windows, casting angled, silver rectangles across the floor. The brothers' shadows moved steadily, silently, as they made their round around the room.

"Nothing," Sam announced, repeating the same conclusion he had come to earlier that day.

Dean gave the device in his hand a small shake and held it up to his ear. It appeared to be in fine working order. He gave an unsure sigh. The place was clean. There was no sign of anything malicious or supernatural haunting the place, and he didn't see what else they could do besides continuing to grasp at straws he was pretty sure weren't even there.

"Well," he said after a minute, "What are we going to tell Fielding?"

"We'll tell him we're sorry we couldn't find anything," Sam replied, shrugging. He paused. "And we'll give him the money back."

"Give him the money back?" Dean asked, incredulous. "Why?"

"Because we didn't actually _do_ anything, Dean," Sam said, offering the obvious answer as he turned back towards the stairs.

"We checked out the building, didn't we?" Dean asked, following his brother. "Which is all he really asked us to do, wasn't it?"

"I don't know what the guy was thinking paying us that much in the first place," Sam said. "Doesn't it seem sort of...fishy to you?" he asked, turning back towards his brother upon reaching the bottom of the stairs.

"No," Dean answered automatically.

"Look," Sam said, "We don't return the money and the guy will think we're running a scam or something."

Dean made a face. "No, he won't! He offered us the money, Sam. We didn't ask for anything."

"Ah, whatever," Sam said, giving him an annoyed wave of his arm and turning away. "We can argue about this later," he said, stalking away.

"You're crazy, kid," Dean said to his back. "We're keeping the money." He watched his brother head towards the window they had entered through. Bringing his flashlight up, he was just about to make one final sweep of the room, when something caught his eye. The faded red letters of the 'BOILER ROOM.' They had forgotten to check in there. He made his way over to it, slowly swinging the heavy door open.

Sam was nearly halfway out the window when he turned, expecting to see his brother following him, only to find an empty room gaping back at him.

"Dean?" he asked tentatively. For a split second he thought he caught something out of the corner of his eye—a darting shadow. He turned his gaze towards the distraction that had caught his attention but didn't see anything. "Dean?" he asked again, easing his way back into the room.

Dean stepped into the boiler room, eyes once again dropping to the EMF meter in his hands. He would just give the room a quick scan, find nothing, and—

BAM

The door slammed shut behind him. He gave a slight jump. Dammit, Sam, he accused, thinking what a low move that was for a practical joke.

"Sam?" he asked, reaching for the door. It didn't budge. "Sam?" he asked again, louder. What the hell was his brother playing at? Because it sure as hell wasn't very funny, he thought as he tried the door again. Sam wasn't one to play jokes like this, however, Dean reminded himself, and with that, a sudden prick of fear ran down his spine. "Sam!"

And then, without warning, the furnaces lit up. The sudden rush of light caused Dean's pupils to contract rapidly and he threw an arm across his face, shielding his eyes.

"Dean?" Sam was at the door, giving it a firm pound when he found it locked. What the hell was going on? He heard his brother yell. "Dean!"

"Sam!" It was faint, drowned out by the sound of roaring flames. "Holy—" Sam could only catch snatches of his brother's desperate voice on the other side of the door. "—pen the door! —Hot as hell in here—!"

Sam suddenly felt his pulse increase ten-fold. What the hell was happening! He desperately tried at the door again. Why was it locked! Was that _fire_ he heard?

And suddenly, out of nowhere, Sam felt a familiar stabbing pain assault his head. He gave a short yelp as his eyes involuntarily squinted shut. ...And suddenly he could see him. Dean. Just on the other side of the thick door that separated them. Burning. Flames licked at his signature jacket, teasing as they worked their way down to his skin. He was yelling, calling for help. Calling for him. He continued to watch helplessly as the flames tired of their tantalizing game and went full-on for the kill. They consumed his brother. Enfolded him in their hungry embrace as he continued to scream and thrash and fight for his life. A fight that couldn't be won. And that didn't last long. Sam watched as his brother's movements began to slow. As his voice began to quiet. And there was nothing he could do, as, horrified, he saw his brother die.

And suddenly a familiar feeling rushed over Sam, knocking his breath out. A horrible, nauseating feeling, that twisted his insides, crushing his lungs as it sealed away his breath. He knew this feeling. It was what he had felt all those past nights after his nightmare. The terrible realization he felt when he woke up, sure that something had happened to his brother. This was that feeling. Oh, God, he thought, desperately trying to keep his senses intact. Not Dean. Not my brother. Please, God, no...

"_No!_" The exclamation burst forth from him with a vengeance. A vengeance that he had experienced only once before, and that delivered results similar to the first time, as the door suddenly flung open, the dead bolt giving way with a dull snap.

Not even pausing for a split second to marvel at what he had just done, Sam rushed into the room, squinting against the blaze, and found his brother on his knees only a few feet away. He was alive. It was only a vision. He didn't even pause for the relief to wash over him as he reached out for his brother and hastily jerked him to his feet, half-carrying, half-dragging him out of the room. His brother leaned on him heavily, his movements weak and slowly growing weaker. Knowing Dean was rapidly losing consciousness, Sam prayed they would at least make it outside before his senses gave out. Pulling him along as quickly as Dean would allow, the two finally reached the window, and Sam didn't pause once to look over his shoulder before easing his brother through it. He tried his best to allow for a soft landing after the short drop, but the thud his brother made upon reaching the ground was still quite audible. Sam quickly followed after him, dropping easily onto the ground, and scrambling to his brother's side. Dean was unconscious as Sam dragged his dead weight a safe distance from the building.

Finally, several feet down the dirt walkway, Sam stopped dragging his brother and dropped to his knees, letting Dean's upper body fall limply onto his lap. Still breathing rapidly, still pumped with adrenaline, Sam finally tried to calm himself down a bit as he hastily scanned his brother's body, searching for injuries. There were no actual burns. He had managed to reach his brother before the fire had built up enough intensity to get to Dean. He must have passed out from shock and heat exhaustion. Sam found his pulse and noted it was beating at a quicker than normal rate, but not so much so to be alarmed.

Sam released a deep sigh, easing his brother back down onto his lap. He was okay. Thank God, he was okay.

And with the relief of knowing that, Sam's thoughts immediately shifted elsewhere. _What the hell was that in there!_

That fire...That sure as hell wasn't a natural fire...Sam turned his gaze back to the building. There was no sign of any ember glow through the vacant windows. It was as if the fire had never even happened.

Sam couldn't help but remember...Less than a year ago...He'd met with flames like those before...

_What the hell is it? What does it want!_ Sam wondered desperately.

He didn't know. He didn't have any damn clue.

He set his jaw in a firm line. One thing he did know, however. If it _ever_ went after his brother again, he would destroy it. Send it's miserable, demonic ass right back to the hell it came from. He would never rest until he did...

**Chapter 4 coming soon!**

* * *

**A/N:** Expect the next update pretty quickly. And please leave a review! And thanks so much to those that already have. I'd love to do the individual responses thing for this chap, but I've got to run right now. Know that I appreciate you guys, though. So much! 


	4. Chapter 4

**Way of the Hero**

**Chapter 4**

Dean shrugged his younger brother off him. For about the fourth time in the last fifteen minutes.

"Dude," he said simply, as if that said it all. _You're worried, I get it. I'm okay. Quit fussing._

Sam moved forward to unlock the motel door and was only slightly surprised to find his hands hadn't yet stopped shaking. And it had been almost an hour since it happened. Since _it_ happened. What was "it?" That was the question that had been racking Sam's brain mercilessly for the past forty-five minutes. That was the question that was causing his heart to continue beating quicker than it should, and his hands to continue their nervous quaking. He pushed the door open and reached back to take hold of his brothers' arm, attempting to guide him into the room.

Another shrug as Dean evaded his brother's grasp. He hated the attention his brother heaped on him anytime he was "hurt." The gaze that darted in his direction anytime he made even a slight movement. The look that clearly said _Hey, take it easy. You're hurt. It's better if you hold still._ The supporting hand that showed up at his elbow anytime he attempted to stand. God, it bugged him. Even though he knew Sam was sincere in his concerns and only meant well. But the role of the doting brother belonged to him and him alone. He was the oldest. It was his job to look after Sam. Not the other way around. And nothing threw Dean off like role reversals.

Dean stepped past his brother, flipping on the light as he entered the room. Pulling his jacket off in one fluid motion, he dropped onto the edge of his twin, letting his face drop into his hands at the same time. He rubbed at his eyes and temples, hoping to vent some of the tension that was still lurking at the edge of his frayed nerves.

He heard the soft slam of the door, the chink of the keys as they hit the table, and the rustle of fabric as his brother removed his jacket. He knew Sam was looking at him, but he didn't return the gaze. He didn't want to see what was on his brother's face right now. Distress, worry, confusion. He hated seeing Sam wear those emotions. They didn't suit him. And they made him feel very uneasy. Like it was his fault his little brother was feeling that way. His brother should never have to feel that way. Not with Dean around. Not with the older brother that would do absolutely anything to keep him safe and happy. The sight that would greet him, were he to look up, would make him feel like a failure. So he chose to keep his gaze directed downward and continued rubbing at his temples, though the comforting effect it had was minimal.

He suddenly felt a hand on his forehead, and he barely managed to keep from flinching in surprise. He hadn't noticed his brother approach. The hand slid down to his cheek, pressing against it lightly with the back of its fingers. Dean brushed it away, not wanting to seem to harsh about it, but he couldn't fully hide the fact that it irritated him.

"You feel a little warm," Sam said, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Dean knew he could have easily whipped out a sarcastic remark at the mention of heat, but he decided to spare his younger brother. He should be grateful, Dean thought to himself. Refraining from being a smart-ass was something that took some will-power from Dean.

"I'm fine," was the remark he decided to go with. Simple, blunt, and completely bullshit. He was anything but fine. But one of them had to take up the role of the calm brother right now. And by the looks of things, it wasn't going to be Sam. Dean could sense an outburst coming. He could feel it simmering the whole drive here—the thick silence in the car doing nothing but helping that simmer turn to a boil. And it was still boiling, only now the boil was threatening to blow. _Please let it out now, Sam. Before the lid blows. You know I can't take it when you blow your lid._

"It was the thing that killed Mom," Sam's voice shook slightly. Dean took a deep breath, readying himself for the emotions that would quickly come gushing.

"The thing that killed Jess," Sam went on, his voice unsteady. "It was the same damn thing." He started pacing. "Dean," Sam said, turning to face his brother. He had to lay everything out on the table right now. He had to find a way to draw _some_ form of conclusion as to what was happening. "It almost killed you, too." He almost choked on the words. He brought a hand up and rubbed at his brow, hoping it would serve as some form of distraction.

"God, Dean, what does it _want?_ What does this all mean? Why us? Why _you?_ I'm the freak here. I'm the one with the visions and th-the," he couldn't quite bring himself to say "telekinesis." As if that would somehow solidify the fact that he was indeed a freak. "...weird...'mind powers,'" he offered awkwardly. "Why doesn't it come after me? Why does it have to go after the people I care about? Why the hell is it doing this!"

Dean remained silent throughout all this, staring at his brother at a loss for words. God, Sam was having a hell of a rough time with this. Dean would be too, had he given himself time to consider all the implications of what had happened back at the plant. But his only concern right now was his brother. Help Sam calm down. Let him know everything will be okay. _Do your job, Dean._

"Sam," Dean began, not knowing how or where to begin. "It'll be okay. We'll—"

"Don't tell me 'we'll figure it out,'" Sam cut in, his voice taking on a harsher tone than he meant it to. "We're no closer to 'figuring it out' than we were twenty-two years ago," he spat bitterly. He wasn't angry at Dean. He wasn't even close to being mad at his brother. But he couldn't keep the vehemence from his voice right now. He paused and they held one another's gaze for a moment—Dean's filled with an apologetic uncertainty, Sam's filled with a hostile desperation.

Not being able to come up with anything that would appease his brother at the moment, Dean decided to remain silent. He dropped his gaze.

Sam released a sigh, mentally kicking himself for taking his anger out on Dean. It was time to reign his emotions back in. He wasn't accomplishing anything by ranting as he was. He took a seat across from Dean and dropped his face into his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He felt exhausted. Mentally, physically, and now, thanks to his little outburst, emotionally. He looked up a moment later.

"What are we going to do, Dean?" He asked, and his voice was sincere. He wasn't just throwing another question out. He needed to know the answer to this one. He really did.

Dean met his gaze. No more pretending. No more throwing out random words of comfort. "I don't know, Sam." He said. And he didn't. And he hated the fact that he didn't more than anything. He was always supposed to know what to do. Sam had no one to turn to but him. And despite the fact that he wanted to help his younger brother more than anything, the truth of the matter was he was just as lost and confused as his brother was. And, truth be told, just as freaked out as well. He, after all, had once again just had another brush with death. And on a good day, it took at least a couple hours, give or take, to fully get your head back in check after experiencing a brush with death. Dean was close to getting his recovery time down to just one hour, though, and was hoping to cut that down to a matter of minutes. It would take a bit more practice, however. And of course, a few more well-executed escapes from certain doom. That was always the easy part, though. _Except for when I leave it up to Sam to save my ass. Like tonight. God, I can't keep doing that. _I'm _the who does the saving. Whether it's my ass on the line or his._

"We have to call Dad." It was Sam who suggested it.

"He won't answer, Sam." Dean reminded him yet again. Didn't Sam get that? The only way they would ever get in contact with their father is if he was the one to initiate it. And their old man had been adamant on keeping such contact to a bare minimum. And while it still made Dean's blood boil a bit, he was sure the man had a reason for it. A good reason. And while he had no clue what that reason might be, he couldn't wait to hear it in the future—hopefully the near future.

Dean lay back against the bed, releasing his breath in a sigh of exhaustion. There was no end to the madness that the Winchesters called everyday living, he thought to himself, as he heard his brother commence what he could tell would be a rather heated rant he was having out with their father's answering machine. He couldn't help but think the drama would make a pretty interesting premise for a soap opera or something. Two brothers who tragically lost their mother at a tender age, having no one but each other after their father mysteriously abandoned them, leaving them to pick up the traces of his obsessive quest for revenge. Yeah, that sure had drama written all over it. Unfortunately though, their drama was centered around the supernatural, which wasn't exactly common for soap operas, and it was also a bit lacking when it came to the back-stabbing, malicious, sexy, bitch-type girls, and every soap opera needed at least three of those in order to be a hit, so it looked like the Winchesters wouldn't quite make the cut. Dang. All the drama and no hot girls to make it more interesting. We always get the crap deals, Dean thought half-heartedly.

He looked up when Sam tossed his cell phone at him.

"You keep trying Dad," he said, turning to grab his jacket.

"Why? Where are you going?" Dean asked, pushing himself back up into a sitting position.

"I've got to look something up," Sam replied, pocketing the keys.

"What? What do you mean?"

"On the internet. The plant, Dean," he explained, "I've got to do a search. See if there's anything about a fire mentioned in the missing teens' reports."

"What about the laptop?"

"I just tried. The motel doesn't even have an internet service. I've got to make it to a public library or something before they close. I'll be back in about twenty," he said turning towards the door. "Take it easy, okay? And keep trying Dad. Bug the bastard until he picks up."

Dean snorted. Yeah, that'll work. Especially since he keeps his phone off, which Dean was pretty sure he did. At least he hoped he did. He'd hate to think his dad was actually _ignoring_ their calls. Yeah, he was ignoring their messages, sure. But to actually press the "cancel" button when he saw one of his sons calling, seemed too harsh. Too unfeeling. Their dad wasn't really like that, Dean firmly told himself.

He heard the rumble of the Impala's engine firing up a minute later, and laid back on the bed, tossing the cell phone aside. He didn't want to think about his father right now. He didn't want to think about the events of the night, or the events of the past, or the events that tomorrow and the next day and the day after that would inevitably bring. It was just too much. Too much to think about right now. So Dean pushed it all from his mind, and let his eyes slowly close. Ah, if only he could get better at ignoring things like this. And if only all your problems would really go away once you learned to ignore them. But they didn't. And Dean knew it.

* * *

Sam found a small public library a few blocks away, and was relieved to note the time was only 8:28. Which gave him at least a half hour to do a quick search. He parked the car, entered the building, and was politely pointed to the computer lab in the back by a nice old lady at the front desk. 

There were eight computers, all of them unoccupied, and Sam hastily sat down at the nearest one. Giving the mouse a quick shake, he rid the screen of the screen saver and pulled up the internet browser.

Okay, the thought to himself, opening up the folder Fielding had given them. Where to begin? There were several things he wanted to look up and he didn't have much time.

He pulled up one of the pages he and Dean frequented whenever searching for possible jobs that contained pretty thorough records of anyone that had had a missing persons report filed about them in the United States. He decided to start with the girl. Glancing at the article in his lap, Sam recalled her name—Lucille Erickson.

He carefully typed out the words, "Lucille Erickson, Elko, Nevada" and hit enter.

0 Results found.

His brow furrowed. He hit back space a few times, ridding the search of the "Elko, Nevada," wondering if that might make any difference. He hit enter again.

0 Results found.

What the? Hitting backspace again, he filled the box with the name "Paul Neerings" instead.

Again, no results were listed.

Sam's mind was whirling. Why weren't they listed?

A thought suddenly struck him. An awful thought that he hoped to God wasn't true. Frantically he googled Elko, Nevada's Police Department. He didn't see a list of all the officers by name, but there was a number for the Chief of Police, Mike Smith. He quickly punched the number into his cell phone.

"Elko Police Department, this is Mike Smith speaking."

"Yeah, hi," Sam said, struggling to keep the frantic edge out of his voice. "Um, I was just wondering if you have a David Fielding on staff there?" he asked, getting straight to the point.

"Who?" the voice asked, a bit surprised by the random question.

"David Fielding," Sam repeated.

"Uh, no there's no officer here by that name. Sorry."

Sam froze.

The man on the other end waited a brief moment for a reply, and when there was none offered, there was a small click as he hung up.

Sam's thoughts were reeling, trying to put together what this all meant. There was no David Fielding. There were no missing kids named Lucille Erickson and Paul Neerings. And there wasn't anything wrong with that damn power plant. This whole thing was a set up. A trap.

Sam's heart was pummeling his chest from the inside. His stomach was churning somersaults.

He had to get back to Dean.

He quickly pushed himself back away from the screen, almost knocking the chair over in the process. He turned towards the lab door, flung it open, and—

"Hi, Sam."

Sam stopped short. There she was, standing in the doorway. Same close-cropped hair, same tight-fitting jeans he remembered last seeing her in. Which was earlier today. It _had_ been her he'd seen. And where once he might have been somewhat pleasantly surprised to bump into her again, he felt nothing but completely creeped out right now. This wasn't right.

"You," he breathed, not knowing what to say or how to react. He had no clue what was going on. Or who she really was. Or what she was doing here.

She gave him a slight smile. A smile that was devoid of any friendliness or amusement. Sam was suddenly reminded of a cat. A cat that had just cornered its prey.

"Who the hell are you?" Sam demanded, taking a step back.

"Sam, Sam," she said slowly, placing a hand squarely on his chest and pushing him back further into the room.

He firmly pushed her hand away. This chick was freaking him out. And he was still shocked about the realizations he had just discovered about the whole power plant case, and now to add this girl on top of it all was making his mind reel. He couldn't see any connection or reason between it all. And he wanted answers, dammit.

"Who are you?" he repeated, his voice taking on a slight dangerous edge.

"I'm Meg, remember?" She asked, giving a slight cock of her head, trying to be charming.

Sam was not in the mood to be teased. Especially not by some creepy stalker-bitch.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice still carrying a definite edge.

"I'm here to talk to you, Sam." she said, keeping her voice friendly. "It's been a while since we last talked. And we just seemed to click so well." She was still slowly advancing towards him, and he was keeping the space between them constant.

"You're part of this, aren't you?" Sam asked, his jaw set in a firm line.

"Part of what, Sam?" she toyed. "'Mr. Fielding's' power plant gig? Tonight's fire?" she paused and her smile broadened a bit. "...Past fires?" she asked slowly.

Sam pursed his lips, as he suddenly felt a rush of fury overwhelm him. It was all he could do to keep from lunging at the girl.

"You killed Jessica," he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "You killed my mom."

"_I_ didn't do anything of the sort, Sam," she explained. She didn't seem the least bit threatened by Sam's anger. She seemed more amused by it than anything. "But in answer to your question, technically, yes, I am a part of it." The information was given freely and no emotion was attached to the words. She felt no fear, regret, or anything at admitting it.

Sam shook his head slightly. "Why?" he had to know. "Why?"

"Because of you, Sam."

Sam's brow furrowed. He didn't understand.

"Because of your _abilities._"

His surprise at hearing that betrayed him, and his brows rose slightly.

"Yes, we know all about them, Sam," she said, noting his surprise. "That's what tonight was all about. A test."

A look of confusion stole over Sam's face once more.

"Would Sam be able to get the heavy Boiler Room door open? Does he love his brother enough that it would trigger his 'freak abilities' to save him?" Her smile widened a bit when he bristled at her mentioning his brother. "Yes, you _love_ your brother, don't you, Sam?" she asked, obviously enjoying toying with his most personal feelings.

Brothers' feelings for one another were not something that needed to be discussed. Not with each other, and certainly not with strangers. But whether they ever discussed it or not, the love was still there. And it meant a whole hell of a lot to both of them. And to have some crazy bitch make light of the subject had Sam fuming.

"You leave my brother out of this," he warned.

"I'd like to, Sam," she said. "And I'm sure you would too, am I right?" She paused. "That's why I think you're going to cooperate with me tonight." The unnerving smile was back in place. "You don't want Dean to get hurt, do you?"

Sam's stomach dropped. _Oh, God. Don't use Dean as leverage._

"You're lying," he challenged. "Dean's fine."

"Is he?" She asked, cocking her head once more. She went on. "I'm not going to force you to do anything tonight, Sam. I'm giving you a choice. You come with me—with _us_—and you come quietly and don't cause a fuss, and I promise you your brother will be absolutely fine. We'll leave him completely out of this." She paused briefly. "You choose not to come—well, that's an option, too. You can go running on back to your brother at the motel, and yeah, you just might find him there..." her smile grew a bit, "...on the ceiling."

Sam was glaring daggers at her. What the hell kind of "choice" was that? He hated this girl. Hated her with a passion. But despite the hatred, despite the fact that he wanted clock the girl as hard as could, and despite the lack of answers and him understanding any of it, he already knew he was beat. She had played the Dean Card. And the Dean Card trumped all.

"Well, Sam?" She asked. "It's time for the reluctant hero to face his destiny and join us," she said mockingly.

"Who the hell is 'us?' And what do you mean 'join you?'" Sam demanded.

"You'll find out, won't you?"

"What do you want from me?"

"I just told you, you'll find out." Her patience was slipping a bit.

"I swear to God, you hurt my brother—"

"We just made an agreement, didn't we?" She cut in. "We don't care about your brother. He doesn't concern us. He doesn't have 'the gift.'"

_The gift?_ This whole situation was insane. Was this really happening?

"Come on, Sam," she said, gesturing towards the door. "It's time to go."

_Go where?_ Why was this happening? And why did he feel so damn helpless? He _wasn't_ being forced to do anything. But he really didn't think the psycho girl was joking when she said 'they' would hurt Dean if he didn't cooperate. And that was a risk he was not willing to take. No matter what the circumstances were.

He didn't know what else to do. He was confused as all get out, and wasn't seeing any way out of this. There was no third option. Either go with the freak girl, or risk the chance of Dean getting hurt. Or killed. And there was no way he'd ever let that happen on his behalf. No way he'd ever let that happen period.

He put aside all the questions that were plaguing him. He put aside his concern for himself. He would manage. There'd be a way out of this. Once he learned more of what "this" actually was.

He followed the girl's gesture for him to exit first. She followed closely, and once they were a few steps away from the door, Sam heard it close. He turned to look, but there was no one there. He glanced at Meg. Had she just...?

"Thought you were the only one, did you?" She asked, sly grin still in place.

* * *

Dean gave a low moan as his senses slowly returned to him. He felt sick. And he couldn't remember giving himself the go-ahead to fall asleep for the night. It _was_ night, wasn't it? Where was he? 

It took a few seconds, but his memory was next thing to return to him after his senses. It washed over him like a wave, and suddenly a shock of panic jolted him as he remembered what had happened.

He had drifted off. While waiting for Sam. And someone...Someone had come in while he had been asleep. He remembered waking up briefly to the flash of a familiar man's face...And then the inhumanly strong grip that held him down. And the harsh smell of the rag that was shoved over his face. And then there was darkness again.

He sat up abruptly, fear suddenly washing over him, following his memories. His head protested at the sudden action, but he ignored it. _What the hell was going on...?_

The lights were off. Where was he? He had the feeling he was still in the motel room. But he also had the sick feeling that he was the only one there.

"Sam?" he called out into the darkness.

No one answered.

Scrambling to his feet, Dean reached for the nearest light. He flipped the bedside lamp on, and squinted as light suddenly flooded the room.

The opposite bed was empty. The covers were made up nicely, and there wasn't even an indentation indicating anyone had even sat on it recently.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, frantically scanning the room once more.

He wasn't here.

Dean felt a panic setting in.

What time was it? How long had he been out? How long ago had Sam left for the library?

He glanced at the clock. It read 12:07.

_Shit._

Dean immediately reached for his cell phone, desperately wondering what was going on. He hurriedly scrolled through the contacts list, actually glad for once he didn't have too many buddies hindering his way to the S's. _Please, Sam. Please have a good excuse for not being here._

Wait, what the...? "Dad," "Donnie," "Robin," and then the list ended. There was no entry entitled "Sam."

Maybe he had accidentally deleted it? Thoroughly confused and plagued with worry, Dean quickly dismissed it and punched in Sam's number.

_Please pick up. Please pick up._ He pressed his phone to his ear, and waited...And waited. No ringing tone came. A few moments later the recording of an operator's voice came on the line, telling him if he'd like to make a call, to hang up and dial again.

Dean slammed his phone shut. Sam's phone was out of service. The number didn't even exist anymore.

Dean was getting a sick feeling to his stomach. He was not liking what any of this was implying. He was not liking it one bit.

Something, or someone had taken Sam. And they had done a pretty bang up job of cleaning up after themselves.

Dean felt a rush of adrenaline pump through his racing blood, as fear threatened to take hold.

Where does he begin? Where does he even start to try and make sense of any of this? A guy—whom he strongly suspects was the so-called "David Fielding," breaks into the motel room and knocks him out when he's already asleep. And then when he wakes up, there's no sign of his brother anywhere.

Dean couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. But that didn't make any of it any less true.

He grabbed his jacket and roughly pulled it on. And then something caught his eye. The keys were back on the table. Confused, he grabbed them and made his way to the door in two swift strides. He threw it open, and was met with the one pleasant surprise of the night. The Impala was back in the stall Sam had parked it in earlier. Did that mean Sam had made it back to the motel room? Was he kidnapped at the same time Dean was knocked out?

He quickly made his way to the car. He opened the driver's door, hoping against hope he might find his brother sleeping in the car for some unfathomable reason. But the car was empty. He checked the trunk next, an odd suspicion nagging at him. Just as he expected—Sam's bag was gone.

There wasn't a trace of his brother left. It was almost as if he had never existed. And Dean was pretty sure that was just the conclusion his assailants wanted him to come to. That his brother didn't exist anymore. So don't even bother looking for him.

There were a lot of things Dean wasn't sure of at the moment. Who was behind this, what their motives were, and why the hell this had to happen in the first place. But one thing he was sure of—he would figure this out. And he would find his brother, dammit. All he had to do in the meantime was keep the fear at bay...

**Chapter 5 to come soon.**

* * *

**A/N:** Pretty crazy chapter, I know. I'm not really sure what to think of this story. I'm thinking the next chapter will be the last one. Maybe two more. And yeah, that seems crazy seeing as how the story couldn't be any further from resolving, but I've got it planned out okay. I did originally have quite a lengthy plot outlined, but I'm having second thoughts about the AUness of it. And with "Shadows" airing in a couple days, we're going to get some more canon information about Meg, which I'm sure will create conflicts with this story and my interest in writing it. And, more than likely, your interest in reading it! So, anyways, we'll see what happens. Reviews are so appreciated. Thanks for reading, guys! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Way of the Hero**

**Chapter 5**

Sam looked up at the slender girl standing in front of him, cat-like eyes watching him, never letting her gaze wander anywhere else. That glaring look of hers was unnerving. He wished she would quit staring.

He was seated in a chair in a small motel room across town where Meg had taken him. He wasn't bound. Though he considered himself a prisoner in every sense of the word. The ropes binding him here were invisible, however. They were the promise that if he didn't cooperate, didn't keep still and shut up, Dean would be the one to pay for his actions. But were he to behave, not put up a fight, supposedly his brother would be left alone...Completely alone. A memory suddenly flashed through Sam's mind, unbidden.

"_Don't ever do that again." _

"Do what?"

"...Go missing like that."

"You were worried about me." He couldn't help poking a bit of fun.

"All I'm saying is you vanish like that again, I'm not looking for you."

A slight laugh. "Sure you won't..."

Sam suddenly felt a tugging weight at his heart. Dean. I'm sorry... Sorry you're going to blame yourself for this. Sorry you think I'm your responsibility. Sorry all I do is cause you a whole shitload of worry...And sorry I can't actually tell any of this to you.

Sam's attention was drawn to door when he suddenly heard the sound of a key fishing around in the lock. Someone was coming in.

The door swung open and a tall figure entered the room. Dressed in a long black trench coat, it had an immediate ominous air about it. It was a man. And Sam wasn't surprised when he recognized the face as he stepped into the dimly-lit room. "David Fielding." Only he looked nothing like the man Sam had made the acquaintance of earlier. Where "friendly" had once been written on his countenance, now all Sam could see was "malicious," "dangerous," and perhaps a bit of "psychotic." He couldn't believe this guy had fooled them earlier. He must be one hell of an actor.

A spark lit up in the man's eyes when he met Sam's gaze.

"Sam," It didn't sound like a greeting one would give a stranger. It was said as if he had known Sam for a long time. As if he'd long awaited his arrival. Sam's unease doubled.

"The brother?" Meg asked, drawing his attention to herself.

"I took care of him," was the response.

Sam's blood ran cold. "_What!_" he demanded, rising from his chair. She said...She had _promised..._

"Relax," the man said smoothly, a crooked grin of amusement appearing on his face. "We said we wouldn't hurt your brother, didn't we? And we always keep our promises, Sam."

"What did you mean by 'took care of him,' then?" Sam demanded, willing himself to try and stay calm, no matter how desperately his nerves were screaming at him to go ballistic and get the hell out of there.

"Let's just say he won't be bothering us tonight."

Sam's mouth tightened. That explanation did very little to reassure him.

"Oh, and when he wakes up, no doubt he'll be a tad worried when he finds something dear to him has gone missing," he paused, and the smirk widened a bit. "So I did him a favor and returned the car."

Sam scowled. Was that supposed to be funny?

"He won't miss you, Sam," the man went on. "Sure, the first few days might be a bit rough for him. But in the long run, we're doing him a favor ridding him of you."

Sam grimaced. What was this? Some kind of crappy attempt at brainwash?

"You hold him back, you know. Always have. He's never been able to do anything in his life without first having to think of how it will affect _you._" He paused. "Did you know that?"

Sam rose to his feet. "Who the hell are you!" he shouted. This guy didn't know shit about him and his brother. "What do you want? Why are you doing this to my family?" He wanted answers like he'd never wanted anything before.

"You belong to us now, Sam. We're your family," the man replied slowly.

_What?_ These people were completely psycho. And Sam had had enough. Screw this. He could make it back to Dean before they could carry out any of their empty threats of hurting him. And together, he and Dean could easily take these freaks.

Sam threw a glance at the man as he strode past him, heading for the door.

"Where are you going, Sam?" The man asked, a hint of amusement evident in his voice.

"I think you two are a couple of psycho shit heads. And me and my brother are going to enjoy kicking both your asses," he said over his shoulder, reaching for the door.

Suddenly, he felt something grab him. Invisible hands. They jerked him back roughly just as he was about to grasp the knob and threw him across the room, where he slammed into the wall. Hard.

The room was slightly spinning when Sam looked up, and small flecks of light were dancing at the edge his vision.

"No one calls me a 'shit head,'" the man said, though the amused tone in his voice clearly suggested he was making fun of the childish attempt at insulting him.

"I don't understand the ingratitude, Sam," he went on, making his way over to where Sam lay in a heap on the floor. "You should be thanking us. Thanking us for letting your brother live. It was a decision that wasn't easy to make. But we think it's best if we leave you at least one emotional attachment in your life. In case we ever need to use it to our advantage. Because it's quite clear we're going to have to expect some rebellion from you. At least for a little while... But it will eventually fade."

"What...are you...talking about?" Sam said, struggling to regain his bearings as he pushed himself to a sitting position.

"Sam," the man began, deciding it was time to finally start explaining a few things. "You were born with gifts. Special abilities. Which you've only recently become aware of, am I right?"

Sam was so sick of hearing of his damn _abilities_. He didn't want them. He'd never asked for them.

"And, you've also recently become aware that you're not the only one with such gifts, correct?"

He must be referring to the incident with Max.

"Well, what I'm sure you're not aware of," the man continued, "is the extent of your abilities. And how many other people actually have the same gifts. Because there are more, Sam. Not many. But there are more. Me and 'Meg' here," he said, throwing her a slight knowing smile, "being a couple of prime examples."

Sam looked between them, easing his aching body against the wall. Had he been knocked unconscious when he hit the wall and was having some sort of bizarre dream? Because this was crazy.

"We keep track of the few people who are born with The Gift, Sam. And when the time is right, we induct them into our group. We originally planned on taking you as a baby. But, well, your mother got in the way, didn't she?"

Sam stiffened.

"So, we were patient. We let you grow up—under the watchful care of your nutjob of a father. Rather funny how he never did get over the nursery incident, isn't it?"

Sam's breathing sharpened in fury. Who the hell did this man think he was? If he hadn't felt like he'd just been hit by a bus, he'd be all over this guy right now.

The man took no notice of Sam's anger however, and continued with his monologue. "Finally, the time came when you realized it was time to break away from that dysfunctional family of yours. It was time to go off on your own. Live your own life. Become your own man. And we gave you that time at school. Two years. Two years to sever any lingering emotional ties to your father and brother. And then when the time finally came to take you, who should show up? Why, the idiotic older brother! Ironic, isn't it? He got to you just before we did. So, we left a little present for you when you returned home, didn't we?"

Sam's breath hitched. _Jessica_. The savage hatred and fury that suddenly coursed through Sam's blood could have given Dr. Ellicot's rage therapy a run for its money. He had never even known what hate was until now. Until this man before him, with those, hard, unfeeling, almost inhuman-looking eyes, had said those words to him.

"I'll kill you," Sam said, his voice shaking. "You son of a bitch, I'll kill you."

The man's smile widened ever so slightly, as he, completely unabashed, continued. "You don't know how lucky you are, Sam. Do you realize what we're offering you? Do you know just what you're capable of learning? We are a superior people, Sam. We can do things other people only dream about. Imagine having the means to achieve whatever you want, Sam. Imaging living above the law—never worrying about anyone getting in your way. Imagine _living_ for as long as you so please. These are things your abilities can offer you, Sam."

It may have been his pounding, muddled head, or it may have been how ridiculous the man's words sounded, but Sam suddenly found a weak laugh escaping him. "Sounds like you've got the whole 'Brotherhood of Mutants' thing going," he said weakly, thinking Dean would have probably awarded him a few points for that one.

The man's grin disappeared. "Taking into account your ignorance, I'll excuse your disrespect," his voice was a low warning. "This time."

Sam was still looking at him as if this was ludicrous. "I don't see how weird dreams and...random instances of telekinesis suddenly set me apart as a god."

"There's so much more to it than that, Sam. You're capable of _higher brain power_," he emphasized, letting that point sink in. "Of course," he went on, "in order to optimize your abilities, there's certain procedures you have to do," he explained. "Certain...higher sources you have to pledge yourself too."

Sam's eyes narrowed in confusion. And suddenly, something clicked and he understood. He understood why he got such a wrong vibe from these people. Why they seemed so sinister and ill-boding. They were occultists. They had to be. The unnatural feats the man spoke of them being capable of must have been the results of delving around in the dark arts. Sam suddenly felt a trickle of fear run down his spine. He wanted nothing to do with any of that.

The man turned and nodded to his counterpart. "Let's get a reading of him."

What? Sam perked up. Get a reading? He feebly hoped they were talking about his palms.

The girl he knew as "Meg" turned and started fishing for something in her bag. She made her way over to him a moment later carrying a curious silver bowl in one hand, and in the other—Sam felt another prick of fear—a knife.

She crouched down by him. "Hold him," she said.

Sam felt the invisible hands seize him again. He couldn't move. Couldn't do anything to stop her as she grabbed his hand and made the deep cut straight across his palm. She squeezed firmly, letting the blood drip freely into the bowl.

Feeling violated and more creeped out than he could ever remember being, Sam watched, disturbed, as the girl dipped her finger into the bowl, stirring his blood, and started muttering in a low monotone voice. The words sounded like gibberish to Sam, but the cold that suddenly seemed to surround him made him think they definitely had meaning. Evil meaning.

Without warning, a sharp pain suddenly split across Sam's head. He gave a short yelp, his eyes wincing shut. Some unseen force was assaulting him. Trying to get in. Trying to learn his deepest thoughts, expose his most personal feelings. Trying to unfold the entire mystery that was Sam Winchester. Sam fought it, not even knowing what "it" was, but certain that letting it overpower him would be a mistake. The pain intensified, a thousand sharp stabs to his brain, over and over. He didn't notice he was on the ground. He couldn't hear his own yells.

"Keep at it," the man said, passively watching the young man writhe before him. "We have to break him."

The monotone chanting from the girl continued, as did the slow, constant stirring of the blood.

Sam was in hell. He had never felt pain like this. It was killing him. Surely he was going to die from this. Maybe if he stopped resisting...Maybe if the let the mental barriers he was unaware of even having till now—maybe if he let them down...the pain would stop. And he would live through this. But there was something there. Something at the edge of his reasoning that was urging him to stop fighting. Coaxing him into submissiveness. And we would be damned if was going to give the evil thing the satisfaction of winning. He struggled with all his might to keep it at bay. But that was proving to be more difficult with each passing moment. And Sam felt himself begin to slip away. Something new was taking over...it almost had him. A darkness was closing in. Darker than the deepest recesses of unconsciousness he had ever remembered reaching. And suddenly, he decided to welcome it. The barriers came down. His conscious thought left him. And his mind was left open to whoever or whatever had the desire to possess it.

The man smiled. "He's ours." He reached for the unconscious boy before him.

And suddenly, a crash behind them, and the deep, throaty voice that yelled the name "Sam," caught both the man's and girl's attention—completely off guard.

* * *

The library was dark and vacant and had been closed for several hours now. This was the closest one to the motel. This was most likely where Sam had come, had he made it to any library at all. Dean hastily parked the car and climbed out, hoping against hope there might still be an employee in the building. He pressed his face against the glass of the front doors, peering in. There was a dim hallway light on towards the back of the building but Dean assumed it was just routine to leave at least one light running. There wasn't anyone in the building. No one he could ask about Sam. 

Pounding the glass in frustration, Dean whipped around and made his way back to the Impala, once again mentally running over the facts.

Sam had left at around 8:30. A man, who, from the brief glimpse Dean had gotten of him, strongly resembled their "buddy" David Fielding, had broken into the motel room sometime between then and about midnight, which was when Dean woke up. The Impala had somehow mysteriously made its way back to the motel between that time, yet Sam had not. And now there was no trace of his brother. No lead to follow. Nothing.

Dean swallowed hard, his mind reeling. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to think. He had nothing to draw any implications or assumptions from. Nothing.

It was the worst feeling ever. Funny, how the only times he himself felt utterly lost was when it was actually Sam who was lost—only in the literal sense of the word. Actually, "funny" wasn't a good word to describe it. Because it was anything but funny. It was hell.

God, it was as if this was becoming routine with Sam. Disappearing without a trace. See if once again, big brother Dean can magically put the pieces together and make yet another heroic rescue. _I can't always pull it off, Sammy._ Dean thought desperately. _You've got to quit doing this to me. One of these times I'm not going to get lucky._ It wouldn't be this time, though. He was going to find his brother tonight.

Where to look next? That was the question to focus on at the moment. He could try another library. Though, he couldn't imagine that that would gain him anything. He could try the power plant. Maybe Sam had made some big discovery and rushed to check it out. _But the Impala was back at the motel._ And he knows I would kill him for going alone anyway. Ah, what did it all mean? None of it fit together.

He wanted to know how David Fielding fit into the whole equation. He knew he was behind the disappearance of his brother. And he would kill the bastard once he got the chance. But what was he after? Why Sam? Dean immediately recalled his earlier conversation with Sam.

"_I'm the freak here."_ Sam had said. "_Why doesn't it come after me?"_

Maybe those words had held more irony than either of them realized at the time. Maybe that's what this whole thing had been about. Getting to Sam. But _why?_

Dean slammed the door shut and revved the engine, pushing all the "why's" from his mind. They didn't matter right now. And they wouldn't until Sam was safely in the passenger's seat next to him where he belonged.

Dean pulled up to the corner of Third and Elm Street once more and put the car in park. The house was dark, its windows gaped at him like empty eye sockets. He climbed out of the car once more, quickly making his way to the front door. He gave it a firm pound.

"Sam?" he called, not bothering to keep his voice down. He didn't care whether he woke the whole neighborhood. He had to know if Sam was inside this house. He pounded again. "Sam? You in there?" The house remained still. Nothing stirred inside. He peered through one of the windows, and was met with a dark, empty living room. It didn't show any signs of anyone having been there. Especially against their will.

The frustration and panic was beginning to mount. He had done a decent job warding them off so far, but even Dean had his breaking point.

He slammed the car door shut behind him and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. He let his head rest there for a moment, eyes shut tight. _Don't lose it, Dean. You'll find him. He's bound to be around here somewhere. Just keep it together and keep looking._ He took a deep breath and lifted his head. Turning the key in the ignition, he silently prayed he would find his brother at the last site that was on the list.

Nothing had changed in the few hours since he had last been here. The power plant still looked spooky as ever. And this time around Dean actually had a reason to fear it. He had almost burned alive inside that building. He still didn't know what the hell had caused that. But again, that wasn't one of his most pressing concerns right now.

He parked the car once more and let himself out. Making his way down the dirt pathway, he could see, illuminated in the moonlight, the imprints he and his brother had made earlier that night. He could see the marks where Sam had dragged his unconscious body to safety. Where Sam had taken care of him. Only a few hours ago. There was something about seeing those prints in the dirt that made Dean ache.

He continued to the window and hesitated before climbing in. "Sam?" he called into the darkness. All he heard was the brief echo of "am" reverberate off the walls a few times. No answer came. Flipping the flashlight on Dean pulled himself into the building. He couldn't explain why, but he wasn't afraid of anything happening to him in here again. He knew that earlier fire incident had something to do with his brother. Who wasn't here.

"Sam?" he called again, though he knew it was futile. Dean walked through the building anyway. Just to be sure. And by the time he completed the round, he was. Sam wasn't here.

Dean climbed back out through the window. It was hopeless. He leaned back against the outer wall of the building and let himself slide down against it. Something light brushed against his cheek and he looked up to find it was snowing. The flakes were light and tiny, and very uncharacteristic for the season—Winter had practically been over for a few weeks now. Dean hadn't even noticed it was cold tonight.

He continued to stare up at the sky, glad for the brief distraction that occupied his attention. But the distraction was only that—brief. And his thoughts inevitably turned back to his brother without him willing them to. Sitting there, lost, cold, exhausted, and completely without resolve, he found himself remembering...Remembering thoughts and moments and memories that seemed lifetimes ago. Remembering a little brown-haired, brown-eyed kid that idolized him. And that he, in turn, adored.

"_Hey, Dean! Go long!" _

_"I am long, Sammy."_

_"No, go long." _

_"Heh, I don't know if you can throw that far, kiddo."_

_"Watch."_

_"Heey, not a bad spiral! You've been working on that grip I showed you, haven't you?"_

_"Yep. When I'm a quarterback for the Broncos, you'll come to my games, won't you?"_

_"The_ Broncos?_ Where did I go wrong with you, Sammy?"_

_---------- _

_"Merry Christmas, Dean!"_

_"Ughh...What did I tell you, Sammy? Not until the sun's up."_

_"It's just coming up right now, Dean! Come and see...Aw, come on. Get up, get up, get up, get up, get up!"_

_---------_

_"Sammy...come on, don't be sad, kid."_

_"Dad's mad at me."_

_"No, he isn't."_

_"Then why did he yell at me?"_

_"Because you had him worried, that's all."_

_"_You_ never yell at me." _

_"Heh, that's just because I've found beating you up is a much more effective way of keeping you in line."_

_"Ha, too bad I can take you, Dean."_

_"Heh, too bad you can't." _

_"Want me to prove it?"_

_"Let's see what ya got, kid."_

_-----------_Years flashed by.

_"I swear man, you've _got_ to update your cassette tape collection." _

_"Why?"_

_"Well for one, they're cassette tapes. And another, Black Sabbath? Motorhead? Metallica? It's the greatest hits of mullet rock."_

_"House rules, Sammy. Driver picks the music, Shotgun shuts his cakehole."_

_"You know, 'Sammy' is a chubby twelve-year-old. It's Sam."_

_------------_

_"Hey Sam, now that this is all over, I want you to tell me what that secret was."_

_"Look...you're my brother. And I'd die for you. But there's some things I need to keep to myself..." _

_And I'd die for you_...The words echoed through Dean's mind. It had been Sam who said them. It had been Sam who was the one brave enough to voice it. It was all wrong, though.

Dean couldn't help but wonder if Sam was trying to protect him in some way. If that's what the mystery of tonight was all about. _Because dammit, Sam, that's not your job. It's mine. I'm the one who does the whole "looking-after" routine. I'm the one who worries. I'm the one who'd die, dammit._

Dean's role was Protector. He knew it. He had always known it. Ever since that little baby brother had been placed in his arms for the very first time at the hospital. And when the object of his protection was gone...When Sam was gone...Dean couldn't play his role. And when Dean couldn't play his role, his world fell apart.

He couldn't stop the steady stream of childhood memories from continuing to flow, each one proving more painful than the last. He had the sick, dreadful feeling that these were all he would have left of his brother now. Something about his disappearance tonight felt so...permanent.

He pressed his hands into his face. What does he do now? What on earth could he possibly be expected to do now? File a police report? Ask around the town? Put up damn "Reward Posters?"

A soft, high-pitched ringing sound suddenly cut through the silence, disrupting Dean's tormenting thoughts.

His cell phone.

But the ring was different. Not the normal tone he had become accustomed to hearing.

He quickly fumbled with his jacket, practically tearing at his pocket to get the phone out.

The ringing had stopped. It had only rang once. A different tone that signaled not a call, but a text message.

Dean flipped the phone open, hoping against hope...

Sender: Unknown

Dean-  
You'll find Sam at Silver Pines Park.  
I'm leaving him with you.  
Don't let him out of your sight again.  
This isn't over yet.

Dean's breath hitched in his throat.

He read it again. Twice. Three times, until the words finally sank in.

He was back in the Impala almost before he had even slammed his phone shut. The engine revved and the car peeled out, the squeal sending a ferocious note splitting through the night.

The park was not difficult to find. He remembered passing it at least twice throughout the day's events. However, he could never remember being so anxious to get anywhere in his life before. He tried to keep his head level, to keep his pulse steady, and to stay focused on the road. But that was proving a very difficult thing to do as his thoughts were tumbling over one another, much in the fashion of clothes in a washing machine. He was too jumbled and mixed up to try and make sense of the situation at the moment. All he could think was that maybe, just maybe, there was a bright light at the end of the hellishly dark tunnel this night had turned out to be.

He reached the park. Throwing the gear into park, he flung the door open. He couldn't remember whether he shut it behind him or not.

"Sam!" he called, jogging along the sidewalk of the vacant park.

The hollow cling of a tether-ball chain hitting its pole answered him.

"Sam!" he called again, loudly.

There were empty swings, swaying slowly. Empty slides standing solitude. No sign of his brother, however.

He increased his pace to a jog. "Sam!" He had to be here somewhere. Maybe on the other side of the park. Maybe just over that hill. He refused to believe he wouldn't find him her—

And suddenly, there it was. The most beautiful sight Dean could ever remember seeing. He was sprawled out on a bench, surrounded in a circular pool of amber light from the street lamp above him. Light flakes of snow were slowly dancing around him, falling soft as feathers and collecting briefly on his closed lashes and tousled hair before dissolving into tiny droplets of water that sparkled golden in the light.

_Sam._ He wasn't sure if he said it out loud or not.

A sudden delayed wave of relief swept over Dean, knocking his breath out in a slow exhalation.

It was him. What had happened, how he'd come to be here, Dean didn't know or care about at the moment, as he closed the remaining gap between him and his younger brother.

Looking down at his sleeping brother, he was amazed at how young he looked. Sam always looked oddly younger when he was asleep. It was all he could do to keep himself from pulling the kid into one of the crushing hugs he never felt embarrassed about giving him when they were young. But instead, he placed his hand on his forehead, sliding it up under the overgrown bangs.

"Sam?" he asked softly. He didn't feel warm. He didn't look injured. At least from what he could tell.

"Sam?" he tried again. He received no response. But for some reason, Dean wasn't alarmed. He was still too much basking in the relief at having found him to feel alarmed. He was just sleeping. And God knows how much his little brother was always in need of sleep.

Gently, Dean lifted his brother's head and shoulders and slid down on the bench under him, slowly lowering the weight back onto his lap. He was too exhausted to do anything else at the moment. He had been on an emotional roller-coaster the entire night, and finally the ride was drawing to its end.

This isn't over yet.

The words suddenly flashed through Dean's mind. It had been his father. His dad had been here. His dad had been the one to save Sam.

But what had happened? And where had he gone? And how did all of this relate to the thing that killed their mom? Because he knew it did. His father wouldn't have been here otherwise.

There were so many questions chasing each other through Dean's mind. Each one only resulting in several more being raised.

He didn't care at the moment though. He couldn't care. All that mattered was that Sam was with him. His little brother was okay and under his care again. He could once again fall back into his role of Protector. So, whatever had happened tonight, whatever it all meant, and whatever it would bring tomorrow, it didn't matter. Because Dean's world was back in order again. And together, he and Sam would take it all in stride. They would figure it all out, and they would emerge victorious. That was their just way of life.

Dean smiled weakly and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. One more memory came floating back to him, unexpected.

_"What do you want to be when you grow up, Dean?"_

_"Rich and famous. With a garage full of cars and a jacuzzi full of girls. What about you?"_

_"I wanna be just like Superman. Only I know that probably can't happen because he's got whole super-powers thing going for him. He can fly and stuff. So I guess I'll go with Batman." _

_"Batman? He's your hero, huh?"_

_"...No." _

_"But you just said you wanted to be him."_

_"I said I wanted to be like him. Fight bad guys and stuff. But I never said he was my hero."_

_"Oh, so it's Superman?" _

_"No. Like I would choose someone that's not even real for my hero."_

_"A lot of people's heroes aren't real." _

_"Not mine. Mine's very real." _It was said simply. Not full of hinting. But Dean got it anyway.

_Yeah, mine too. _

* * *

**A/N:** Well, I think that's going to be it. Weak and very confusing resolution, I know, but I think it's much better to leave a whole ton of open-ended questions than to go even more AU. I just wanted to get this fic finished before tonight, because I was so worried that after more canon revelations are made in "Shadow" I would never get around to finishing this. And I couldn't bear having an unfinished story on my bio page for time and all eternity. So, if anything, there might be a much-needed follow-up chapter with Sam waking up, but I'm not sure yet. We'll see. Anyways, I hope those of you who read it enjoyed it! I'm now going to go back to sticking with canon fics and I'll probably focus more on one-shots after I finish "Infected." So, I hope you'll check back with my profile sometime in the future! Thanks for reading, guys. :) 


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